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I’m probably the only person who can tell you right off the bat how many stairs lead up to the north courthouse entrance. That would be 10, unless you don’t want to count the final step up as a stair; then it would be nine.

Would you like to know what bargains are hitting the shelves of St. Luke Auxiliary Shoppe next? Call me.

I know, I know, it’s like magic, isn’t it? David Colburn, clairvoyant extraordinaire.

Rubbish.

These are things I see from the massive east-facing windows of my office. They’re taller than I am, and oh, so wide, though I’m slowly catching up to them in that category. For the most part, I keep the vertical blinds open.

When I’m at my desk, it’s like working in a department store window, me the resident mannequin with corrected vision.

How’s harvest going? Give me a few minutes to watch for trucks headed to the elevator, and I’ll tell you.

Is district court in session today? If I spy three dark-suited men going up the courthouse steps in less than an hour, probably so. Hardly anyone wears suits around here, other than to church.

An awning blocks my view of the clock tower, the dumpster on the northeast corner of the courthouse square isn’t much to look at, and seeing the world in slices thanks to the verticals is a bit bizarre at times. Sometimes I’ve even seen former commissioner Dan Holub holding forth on the sidewalk, waylaying anyone who would stop and listen. Nothing’s perfect.

Still, the view is glorious. It’s open, expansive, bright, refreshing, and unique, so much better than the windowless spaces where I’ve worked.

It’s a simple thing, this room with a view, but simple is good. ‘Tis the gift to be simple, says the old Shaker tune, and some folks say I’m really “gifted;” but in this particular instance, they’re quite right.